


Oracles Eyes

by dr_bobanner



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Alternate Universe - Victorian, M/M, Science vs Religion, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-03-11 15:14:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3330572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dr_bobanner/pseuds/dr_bobanner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil Palmer is the towns beloved Oracle, spreading the news of old and new that he sees everyday. Including the news of the scientific movement. Cecil can't bare to see his old ways being wiped from every city touched by the movement. But will his mind change when he meets the new man in town?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One with the Tarot Cards

**Author's Note:**

> A Victorian Steampunk AU I've been working on. May be many chapters, may be really short, haven't decided.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News is sparse in Night Vale, the cards say something is coming, a meeting is called at Town Hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Victorian Steampunk AU I've been working on and decided to post when I saw nervouslobotomy's request of AU's on tumblr. Enjoy!

It was a night like many others as the local oracle and radio host toyed with his tarot deck. There hadn't been much happening in the little town as of late. What was he to report if there was so news? Surely the town would lose faith in their oracle, stop listening to his show, and put him out of business. It was hard to stay in business as it was with the world progressing as it was. All manor of creatures were being bagged and tagged by science, other oracles were replaced by generic newspaper horoscopes, and the marvels of science were taking place of the worlds mysticism. The city of Night Vale was one of the last to keep its ways. But progress was inevitable.

With a deep sigh of irritation, Cecil began shuffling his tarot cards as an intern entered with a tray of fresh brewed coffee and cookies, pouring a steaming cup and setting it before their boss. After setting out his spread, the host turned his attention tot he cup, adding a few spoonfuls of sugar and a generous pour of cream. Like his view of reality, he couldn't take his coffee straight. Sweetening things up always made it more fun. Though his friends and family disagreed with hi ways. Taking a long sip and eating a soft sugar cookie, Cecil turned back to his tarot spread and slowly lifted the first card. What was happening in Night Vale?

The Eight of Wands.

Something was coming, and quickly to the little town. Next card. What will be effected by it?

The High Priestess.

Ruler of the subconscious mind and spiritual transcendence. Could that mean Cecil was the one effected by what was coming? The little town itself was a place of great spiritual wakening for anyone who passed through. But the oracle himself was ahead of those others in the city. Perhaps what was coming for him could bring the scientific movement from completely wiping out his practice from the world.

But what was it?

Before Cecil was able to turn over the card, the intern opened the door again, clearing their throat to catch his attention.

"Excuse me, sir, but there's a meeting at the town hall. You've been invited to report on it."

Standing not too far behind the intern was a man, dressed modestly in a brown suit with a bowler hat, and holding a pocket watch in his hand. He didn't look like someone from their quiet city. Giving a nod, the oracle stood, straightening himself out, and grabbed a few things before walking out the door.

 

* * *

Arriving at the town hall, Cecil began putting together his recording equipment. Slowly pulling out the tape, winding up the large roll into the recorder taking up his lap, locking it into place before undoing the microphone and attaching the cord to the outlet. The process was relaxing to Cecil. Always the same thought train of how to ready the heirloom. It had been passed down from the previous city oracle, and he held it so dearly when he got a chance to use it. It reminded him of a simpler time, when science hadn't taken over, and the mystic of the world was mysterious.

Cecil was suddenly pulled from his thought when a group came in, talking to the mayor. One man stuck out most to Cecil. Carrying a leather bound book under one arm, and a satchel under the other. He shown with the brightest aura Cecil had ever seen. The man's beautiful, dark lock were touched with a bit of grey at the temples. Framed by the smoothed back tresses was a pair of sparkling brown eyes. They beamed with every word he spoke to the mayor.

Soon the group reached Cecil, the man could barely form a word as the mayor introduced the man.

"Mr. Palmer, I am glad you made it. This is Carlos, from the University of, er... What it is." Ms. Winchell said, shrugging off Carlos' correction. "I hope you'll be able to get a good story today. Night Vale will never be the same after today."

The two smiled at each other before Cecil cleared his throat.

"So, um, what brings you to Night Vale?" The oracle said softly, a tinge of pink in his cheeks.

"Oh, well, Night Vale is a very interesting place, and I'm excited to study this place."

"Really? What exactly do you study?"

"Oh, well, I'm a scientist."


	2. The One with the Cancelation

A scientist has infiltrated his beautiful city. It was horrible. Absolutely devastating. How could his mystical town continue on if more and more science made it's way in? It was absolutely dreadful!

The oracle paced around the broadcasting station as he pondered what to do about it all. His anger was obvious to the interns as the many tattooed tentacles across his arms writhed and moved in an agitated way under his rolled up sleeves. That was never a good sign. Soon, Cecil managed to calm himself, calling for his intern to fetch a cup of tea for him. After a moment, a fresh cup of tea found its way into the hosts hands before the intern cleared their throat.

"Sir, the, um... Apache Tracker is here. He would like to have a word."

Letting out a calming breath, Cecil waved away the intern. After a moment, another man walked in, his rather plain suit no different from Cecil's, besides it obvious lack of color. It was even more plain in comparison to the large Indian headdress upon his head and the bronze, polished instrument in his hand, dripping a gelatinous, black good. 

"You look ridiculous." Cecil remarked with a disapproving tone.

"I have news of the post office." The Tracker said over Cecil, a flame in his eyes.

"What is it this time?"

The man sat, taking a deep breath as he set the machine in his hand on the table. The long nozzle still dripped goo, but at a slower rate, collecting on the rug below. Cecil watched the drips, his mouth setting in a grimace as he let out a frustrated breath.

"We saw great evil there." His voice was low and gravelly as he locked eyes with Cecil. "I used my Indian magics to enter the building after City Council closed it off. I walked into the most horrific scene we have ever seen." Cecil couldn't help but roll his eyes. "After we entered, the smell of burnt flesh filled our noses. It was as if the whole building were filled with the scorched copses of the whole city."

"Well, that's nothing new." The host added as he took a last sip of tea, swirling the last remnants of it in the bottom of the cup a few times.

"The packages had been thrown about as if a storm had passed through." The man fell silent a moment, his violet eyes blinking slowly. "It was written across the wall, in bright red blood... More to come. And soon."

There was a quiet moment shared by the two. Cecil placed his cup upside down on its saucer and leaning back in his chair. The quiet was only punctuated by the sound of the intern running around the studio in a panic before finding a place to hide. It was a while before Cecil cleared his throat and looked the Apache Tracker in the eye.

"When are you going to stop playing pretend? Since mom died you've been acting like an idiot."

"Cecil! You promised never to bring her up around me again!" The mans face turned red as he stood, glaring down at his brother.

"I promised no such thing."

The Apache Tracker let a low growl of frustration pass his lips. He grabbed his instrument, still dripping goo all over the carpet, and stormed out of the building. A long silence passed before Cecil picked up his cup again and peered in, examining the large, color changing group of tea leaves in the bottom of his cup.


	3. The One with the Turquoise Sky

The office was quiet as the interns went through the mail of the day. Fans sent in letters most days, and it was up to the interns to go through it all. Fan letters, complaints, corrections, hate mail, all mail. It would be mountains, or it would be hills. But most of all, it was work. Cecil wouldn't see any of it until the interns scanned it all, reading through every last word of praise and happy words. They read the venomous words that stung even those not intended for it. Of course, Old Woman Josie's letter stood out most of all. The local woman, former teacher of Cecil, often sent in her own bits for the show. Predictions, ideas, rituals, advice. Today, she had the weekly colors of the sky. An intern, after brewing the morning coffee, brought a tray with the letter and breakfast. The walk from the mail room to the broadcast room was longer than expected today, the tray clattering with the fine china holding treats, and the silver pot holding fresh coffee. Other workers hurried by, checking their decorative watches and pulling on their overcoats quickly as if they were late.

Inside the broadcast room, Cecil sat quietly. A letter fit between his fingers as his spectacles perched on his nose, his eyes scanning the page quickly. The intern dared not ask from the look on the hosts face. Rumor was of contract negotiations beginning with the never present Station Management. From the other rumors, the intern knew never to ask. Cecil took a breath, setting down the letter as the intern set the tray in an empty space on the desk, papers and charts covering most areas. The intern poured a hot cup of coffee as Cecil noticed the letter on the tray, taking it carefully and unfolding the creases. Josie's simple, but elegant, cursive rode across the paper and inquired about Cecil before breaking off into the following list abruptly:

Monday - Turquoise  
Tuesday - Taupe  
Wednesday - Robin’s egg  
Thursday - Turquoise/taupe  
Friday - Coal dust  
Saturday - Coal dust with chances of indigo in the late afternoon  
Sunday - Void

The host let out a breathy laugh as he set down the letter and wrote a few notes on his papers for the show. He always trusted Old Woman Josie's opinions over anyone else's. She did have some extra help with those sorts of things of course. After a while, the intern was waved away by the host, left to head back to the mail room to sort through the great deals of mail again. Of course, with going through all the letters, they were confused on how the letter from Station Management got through their reach. Contract negotiations were stressful, and rumors were always flying about what was really running the radio station. Rumor was that Station Management was a real monster, always shooting out orders from their office. It was rather peculiar, the way they sent out letters that seemed to get by the interns.

The thoughts were chased away as another intern tuned into the live show Cecil was now producing.

The voice of Night Vale's Oracle was always a soothing event as the interns went on with their work, going about the letters and errands together. It wasn't until a soft noise distracted one, that the rest set down their work. A letter had shot through the bottom of Station Managements office.

A large envelope, looking as though it was brimming with paper, sat on the opposite side of the tightly sealed door. One stood, walking carefully over before picking it up from the hall and making their way to the broadcast room with careful steps.

The broadcast room was in their sights, letting the host inside acknowledge the letter coming towards him. The intern, hands clammy as they felt the now squishy package, set it on the desk in front of Cecil carefully. He coughed a little, and opened it, letting the meaty contents burst forth.

"Oh... My."

He grimaced, waving for the intern to begin cleaning up the mess. They grabbed a towel and dust pan from the kitchen, carefully wiping meat juice from the table into the pan, the chunks and slime oozing onto notes and charts. Cecil made a disgusted sound before going on to the page of notes from Old Woman Josie, reading off the colors patiently as the intern hurried out, boots clicking on the wooden floors. It looked almost as though someone emptied a butchers waste bin into the envelope. A disgusting thought that made the intern want to vomit. Stopping for a moment, the meat juice leaving an oozing trail that one would have to clean later, the intern looked out into the street. The sky, lit by the barely rising sky, was a mixed color of turquoise and smog. The city train ran through the open road, leaving a new trail of morning smoke to intermingle in the bright color. Friday and Saturday's coal dust sky would probably be from the traffic.

Eventually, the intern made it to the kitchen again and dumped the contents of the pan into a trash pail. The meat smell clung to their nostrils, making it feel as though they were on the edge of vomiting right into the pile of meat chunks. At least that would smell better than the peutrid reek coming up from the bucket. If Station Management really sent out that envelope, the meat must have been rotting for quite a while before sending it out. But why would they have meat like that sitting around? Who would feel the need to have that? Had this letter been planned? Even if it was sent out at the spur of the moment, it was a horrid thought.

The intern was distracted when another intern rounded the corner inside, holding a note out to them. It was distinctly Cecil's hand writing, asking they go see what was up with Management. After cleaning up their message, the intern didn't feel very up to it, but what the host wanted the host got. Hopefully Management wouldn't be too bad.

"An intern went to see what management wanted and has not returned. If you are related to Jerry Hartman, afternoon board operator at Night Vale Community Radio, I am sorry to inform you that he is probably dead or at least corporeally absorbed into management permanently!"


End file.
